Dragon Age RPG Veilfire Historia Write up
by SpitfireVII
Summary: GM-ing for a Dragon Age tabletop RPG. These are two of the "memories" that the party has unlocked. Not a whole story, effectively a first person flashback to someone no-one listening has been, plus one of my player's unlocked Spirit Warrior with it, so I thought I did ok! Didn't actually write these to be read by anyone but myself so forgive the cheese!


Veilfire Historia #1

"You are standing in rank with hundreds of glitteringly armored elves, eyes and armor shining in the darkness of the cavern. You await his call. Your mouth is dry; by the creators you hope this works. Ahead of you in the darkness there are the sounds of a battle met with magic and metal. Odd sounds and flashes of blue light shimmer for a few seconds even through the magical veil behind which you and your regiment wait. A chime sounds, you glance to the elf next to you; Ellind'rodal heard it too. He nods, you gulp and grasp the hilt of your sword. Its time. The magic cloaking your group disappears and the cavern is lit with the flash of spell and sword and the unnatural designs of the stone's brood. Their eyes glowing blue in the darkness, as you draw your sword and strike through the creatures from your hiding spot. They are caught unawares and are crushed into the stone from whence they came. You breathe a sigh of relief, and you see him, the great Tactician, raise his staff up in prayer, illuminating the greatness of Elgar'nan's wisdom.

Alerion Historia #1

"Your breath is ragged and your sight dims as you stumble on the fields of Mithros. There were 10 defenders once, each adorned in emerald armor as green as the unwaking sky. Standing against the twisted creations of Ghilainan's domain. 10 knights lost the fight but you will not lose their memory or the people they had sworn to protect. There is a sudden stillness as the creature crumbles into ash at your blade. A small breeze against exposed skin, your makeshift armor long since burned away by the first construct's spit. Your consciousness fades. 10 brothers and sisters were lost today. 10 mothers and fathers. 10 of the people. Of My People. No more." With an anguished yell, you cry out feeling the energy of the world twist around you, carrying you on, knocking away tooth and fang, leading you through the hordes.

Your eyes fill with darkness and then you feel warmth, as if you lay in the afternoon sun, squinting, you note that you are within a palace, aurelian archways vault the ceilings, far above. All around a soft whispering, murmuring voices. Your body is stiff and even the smallest movement courses pain through you. You are draped in dreamer's robes and around you someone has placed flowers. Your polearm lays wreathed beside you. Some words stand out above the others

"-that he alone defended Alathorn from her beasts!"  
"Impossible, just one took several of the Emerald to slay! What could this stripling possibly know about the song of the blade?"

"The All-Father's forces were but a half day away!Lord Leriel walks in his light, but this young of years silenced the song before they got here…"

"Is it possible to enter Unethera while on the field? It is highly unusual!"

There is nervous laughter and distant arguing. One voice cuts across the murmur;

"Can you feel that?" another asks-  
"It can't be!"

Short, shocked gasps and the sound of hundreds of elves falling to the floor in reverent silence.

Golden light coalesces and blinds you and silence echoes throughout the Funerary halls of Hah'relthan.

As your eyes focus, you realize there is a tall crowned woman with white hair, flowing as if underwater, standing beside you. Could it be…? She speaks but her words are lost to you. You think she smiles as she reaches down and gently touches your face. At her touch you are revitalized, reborn- the dull ache of broken bones and torn skin vanish and after a time, she withdraws her hand, and speaks still smiling.

"Athim, Mala enasalin, Hellathen, Mir Mirthadra sa Elvhenan"

"Arise, Alerion na Mythallen. You have served Elvhenan well, so now you will serve as my hand."  
Your shock clear on your face and in the minds of all present. Slowly you rise before the Creator. You realize in your awe, that you've been staring at her face. You avert your eyes and kneel like all the others. But hear her command "See me" and you raise your eyes once more. She traces a slender finger through the air in an intricate pattern. Where she gestured an ethereal fractal glyph grew and twisted through dimension. Then it was on you, within you, crawling under the surface of your minds eye, searing onto your skin. Your face grew hot. "Mythal herself had granted me! A Vallaslin! I am chosen!"

At this, the cold reality of the sanctum returns and you are yourselves again, each of you respectively. Except Sahariel, who stands, eyes locked with something only he can see.

You kneel in the crowd, glancing up at the miracle before you- Speechless, your mind racing; "

Alerion! He alone Mythal na enaste! Evar'el him mahvir ar melana..! Wait. These are not your own thoughts, these words are not yours. You shake your head, no you are Sahariel, this isn't your memory, this is a vision, another dream you tell yourself- and as you think it, You feel the space change, and look around to see that the colour has faded entirely from the vision and in silent greys, time has stopped. You blink, suddenly aware that are yourself and can move. You stand up and see that the room blurs in every direction when you try focus on the distance. What do you do?

"There isn't much time, da'mi" An older, emerald armored Alerion stands directly before you.

"Melava inan enansal," he speaks as he traces a pattern across your face, while tracing his own valaslin with his other hand.

"ir su araval tu elvasal. U na emma na abelas."

As he finishes, his face un-readable, "Suledin, da'mi, suledin. "

Sahariel jerks suddenly as the historia gem cracks loudly. His face feels hot, and his body lighter somehow. Something has changed.

The watcher speaks to you with a new voice, an old woman's sneer, echoes in your head.

"Well well, what have we here? Tis a crude imitation at best, but I shall never scoff at another piece for my board. An old story is ending and you will be needed, Sahariel na Mythallen"

If anyone asks who is speaking she responds "Your people know me as Asha'Bellanar, but you? You may call me Flemeth."

Mic drop.

GM NOTES

\- Alerion uses that one quote from that one thing that translates to;

"Time was once a blessing  
but long journeys are made longer  
when alone within.

Endure, little blade, endure"

Sahariel is a Dalish warrior player character who last level up decided he would like his character to become a Spirit Warrior, so I took that, ran with out and was able to use it to move the story forwards. Rather than my pet hate of "walk through a door- DING LEVEL UP- ok I command the spirits to heal you all, i just learned this and did not know it 2 minutes ago when you were dying" It doesn't flow. ok Thank you for reading! I didnt write this to be read by anyone but myself, but uploading this here makes it easier to share!


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